


The Proud Heirs of Nothing in Particular

by Laurie wonders (Laurie1621), Laurie1621



Series: Is this still a tragedy? [1]
Category: Legacies (TV 2018), The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV), Vikings (TV), Vikings (TV) RPF
Genre: Abusive Parents, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate History, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parenting, Bisexual Male Character, Blood and Torture, Esther loved her children, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, Full Shift Werewolves, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired by Florence + the Machine, Inspired by Poetry, Inspired by Real Events, Inspired by The Originals (TV), Inspired by The Vampire Diaries, Lesbian Character, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Male Homosexuality, Mikael A++, Mikael loved Klaus, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other, Past Torture, Period-Typical Homophobia, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Sexual Orientation, Strong Female Characters, Torture, Viking Family Feels, Vikings, War, Werewolves, inspired by the Vikings, mikael is a good father
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurie1621/pseuds/Laurie%20wonders, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurie1621/pseuds/Laurie1621
Summary: “Will you love them to death?"The Devil did ask,ending his cruel task."Run a blade through my chest,"The young Warrior said,"Watch as their love brings me back."OrIn which, Mikael and Esther fall madly in love,against all sadistic odds.The truth: Dahlia's cruel bargain,has a reason behind it.The untold storyof Ansel's love and glory.The tale of a cruel foe,who cursed the happiness of his son,And even the Gods barred him from HeavenAlways and forever...
Relationships: Ansel/Esther Mikaelson, Dahlia (The Originals)/Original Female Character(s), Dahlia/Esther Mikaelson, Elijah Mikaelson & Finn Mikaelson & Klaus Mikaelson & Kol Mikaelson & Rebekah Mikaelson, Hope Mikaelson & Klaus Mikaelson, Klaus Mikaelson & Camille O'Connell, Mikael & Klaus Mikaelson, Mikael (Vampire Diaries)/Original Character(s), Mikael/ Ansel, Mikael/ Original Characthers, Mikael/Ansel/Esther, Mikael/Esther Mikaelson, Mikael/Freya Mikaelson
Series: Is this still a tragedy? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913977
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. A better beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Basically how Esther and Mikael met. How they met Ansel. Why Dahlia reacted the way she did. Everything.
> 
> This is an AU. My personal views and backstories for this characters. There will be divergences from cannon 
> 
> This work is part of a series. 
> 
> Please comment your opinions and thoughts

Esther hated Mikael. Still, Esther always wanted more than her small village, and Mikael was so much more. And yet, the first time she laid eyes on him, she thought he was the Devil. But, then, he took of his monstrous mask and his smile was so terribly sweet. It made her heart jump out of her mouth. He looked like angel (she just forgot that so did the Devil). But, oh, how she loved him.

Dahlia loved her sister Esther. And she hated being alone. But, for as cold as her heart had become, it was still beating strong. And love was there, right in the corner, if only she had the courage to jump.

Ansel loved Mikael. The Viking warrior was everything Ansel always wanted to be: strong, brave, powerful and beautiful. But Ansel did not have the courage to love Mikael. How could he, when Ansel did not have the courage to love himself? Still, Ansel knew: Not even Mikael could be brave for them both forever.

Mikael only wanted to survive long enough to prove he was not weak. His only other goal was to keep his little brother, Niklaus, safe and alive. Mikael's father had not taught him to want anything. Dreams were a weakness, after all, and happiness was a lie only children believed. But, in his way to becoming a mighty conqueror, Mikael met two beautiful souls (Ansel and Esther), who split his heart and taught him to want love. And, to their surprise, all Mikael ever wanted was to be a good father, have a quiet life and a family.

But perhaps it was too much to ask.

They were nothing more than children when they first met. They were naive and hopeful fools, with so much love to give. They all fought their way through life, chasing a peaceful happiness, which was always a step too far. More often than not, such happiness seemed to exist only in their childish fantasies. But, even when it seemed possible, they were still being chased by cruel monsters, who were always a step too close.

Surprisingly, the worst monsters weren't the ones made of flesh and blood. The worst of the worst were made of mere whispers, which followed them (and later on, their children) to the edges of the world. They plagued each and every awaken moment of their lives and cursed all their happy thoughts.

Maybe tragedy was ineffable...


	2. When the monster came

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is When the Monster Came 
> 
> I do not know why it doesn’t accept that but anyway 
> 
> Please comment your thoughts

It was as though God had opened the gates of Hell and let out all the demons. The Vikings came in hoards, sacking and burning their village. They descended upon the villagers as hell hounds descended upon the souls of sinners. Everything about them was savage and unworldly. 

The villagers could hear their battle cries long before they saw them. Desperate screams filled the air. Mothers dragged their children inside as fast as they could. Merchants and farmers tried to save their goods; in the confusion, they accidentally sat animals free. And all the foolishly brave men took their arms and prepared to die in a hopeless battle.

Esther remembers thinking they were monsters; things made of nightmares. As she heard the first screams, she briefly prayed for them to leave, for god to save her home. She thought perhaps the Vikings came to punish them for their sins. But she doubted her God could ever be this cruel...

As the two sisters watched the men of the village falling to the floor like flies, Esther's heart almost crawled out of her mouth. Dahlia, however, was more enraged than frighten. This reassured Esther that the Vikings were only men. Only cruel men made of flesh and blood. Even with all their unworldliness features, their mortality remained a fact. It meant Esther and Dahlia could fight them, beat them even. At first, both of them considered fleeing the village. But they soon realised fleeing was not a viable course of action: they would run into too many warriors at the borders of the village. Their only choice was to fight the Vikings with their magic.

At first, Esther was reluctant to use her powers. The council of the village had officially prohibited the use of magic almost two years prior to the attack (though the practice of doing magic was long looked frowned upon by the villagers). Esther and Dahlia had continued to practice and use their powers, though, in secrecy and cautiously. They only help with minor issues, when old friends of their family came asking for help. Dahlia insisted on payment, but she did not ask for much, and demanded discretion.

But this was different. If they fought the men in the open, in broad daylight, everyone could see them. Esther did not know what the exact punishment for magic was, but she knew it was likely to be terrible.

Still, watching Dahlia throw men twice her size to the ground, it filled Esther's heart with determination. She followed her sister out of their hut. If the men could bravely fight for their homes, why couldn't they?

Esther felt invincible, at first. Her movements alongside with Dahlia's were powerful. They fought for much longer than any other 'warrior' of their village.

And yet, the Vikings seemed to appear out of thin air. Their numbers were too great and the men of their village were too useless to help. There was only so much their magic could do. Not even Dahlia was strong enough to fight all those men (not yet, at least). The sisters did not know enough about their powers; they were still learning.

Esther thought they would die. She held her breath; her back against the wooden outer wall of their house. Esther almost cried for help, as she clung desperately to her sister's hand. The ruthless beasts in form of men surrendered them.

A cry came from a distance. Though, it was not the kind their ears had gotten used to. It was not of agony, nor of battle. It was a cry of command; and yet, it sounded eerie. In the moment of distraction, Dahlia tried one last spell (which blasted away two more men) before falling to her knees, exhausted. Esther jumped to help her. When she glanced at the men; it was already too late: they had overpowered them.

The men grabbed them, putting sacks over their heads, and dragged the two witches to the town's main square. Esther feebly tried to get herself free, but just as Dahlia, she was too tired. Once they arrived, the men threw the sisters on the stone ground next to some carts the Vikings were filling with food and treasures. As the men pulled off the sacks from their heads, Esther held her breath.

"You are ours now." One man spitted, as he pointed to the bracelets they had forcefully put around the witches's wrists.

Their voices sounded more like barks, harsh and dreadful. Esther was sure they could not be human. The men stared at the two young women with file, hungry eyes. And yet, as the hours passed, they did not touch neither sisters. They stood around, talking (loudly, only when they thought others could not hear them) about all they would do to them. They seemed to plan a festival worthy of kings. But they did not step closer to the woman, or at least, not while they were being watched. The men suspiciously eyed the young man, who sat over one cart and seemed to record their spoils of war.

The young man nervously glanced at two women. He threw reproaching looks at the other men, but he was too frightened to interfere. He was scrawny, dark-haired and ill-looking. He was clearly a Viking, considering he dressed, but if were not for his clothes, Esther would have thought he was a farmer boy. The young man was an outsider in his own world. He was not much older than the two sisters; his features were sweet and child-like. His eyes seemed to shine with a devilish yellow as he gazed at the fallen bodies. He is not a warrior like his people, Esther thought. He could never be. For all his ferocious gazes, he looked weak and helpless. Yet he seemed to be well educated, or at least intelligent enough to be counting their riches. Esther thought he could do little to help them. Still, she tried to catch his eyes, silently begging him to help them.

Esther looked around, numbly, as she clung to her sister's hand. She slowly took in the stated of the town's square. Blooded drowned the air and seemed to cover all superficies. The faint sound of swords still echoed through distant fields. The great well in the center of the square had lost its wooden cover; the corpse of a fallen villager still tried to cling to it. The Vikings sacked all the little shops surrounding the square; turned them into mere piles of broken wood.

Scared villagers ran around them, carrying supplies to satisfy the monsters who threatened to burn down their houses. Even the town's priest seemed to comply to their demands. The people had to surrender to the will of the demons, Esther thought. And yet, her naïve heart could not stop being hopeful. At least, the fighting will cease. Still, Esther could see the rage in Dahlia's eyes as priest Athelstan walked past them. He nodded to the Viking men—completely ignoring the two sisters—and made his way to the church, followed by some men of the village. Esther almost called after him. Their family had always been devoted, surely the priest would help them in this time of need. He is already going to discuss truce with the pagans, she concluded, he will make his case and the vikings will set us free.

But her voice died inside her throat as her eyes fell upon the most terrifying sight of all was the great wooden platform, which now demarcated the center of the square. The villagers built it, not the Vikings. Esther remembered watching it being built and wondering what it was for. Now, however, with the two great pyres surrounded by wood, its meaning was clear: the villagers planned an execution.

Esther clung to the crucifix she wore around her neck. Her ears burned, angered by what the men had said and what the villagers had planned on doing. She glanced at Dahlia, expecting her sister to craft a plan that would save them. Dahlia was clearing thinking. Though, if the tears in her eyes were any sign, Dahlia was not confident in her abilities. Esther thought of burning the men's skin off herself. But she soon realized—just as Dahlia had—that she could not do magic. Desperation flooded her chest as she glanced down to the bracelets the men had put around her wrist.

"Niklaus!" came a harsh scream from afar. Esther watched as the young man keeping records jolted. He almost fell out of the cart as he tried to get down from it. It was clear the scream had flustered him, and Esther wondered if that was his name. He made his way to the church, with unsteady steps and trembling legs.

Once Niklaus was gone, the other men rejoiced. One went so far as touching Esther's cheek with his dirty hand. She thought of bitting him, when the eerie voice yelled again. The man stopped dead in his tracks. He swallowed and stepped back slowly as he turned to see the man to whom the voice belonged.

Esther thought Mikael was the worst thing she had ever seen. Surely, not even the Devil could look as monstrous.


	3. And took her heart away

Mikael strolled in their direction, haphazardly, his bloody sword still drawn. He yelled orders from behind his men. Mikael ambled towards the two sisters; the other men made way for him and barely looked him in the eye.

Esther briefly thought he was some kind of evil giant. A dark-colored helmet covered his face. Strange symbols adorned it. And it left the top and back of his head uncovered. Mikael's long blond hair was braided and blood stained, though bits of it still fell over his face. The helmet had a wide window for his bright eyes, which made them shine ferociously. His mouth appeared behind thick bars, which gave his voice a deranged metallic tone.

Mikael's blood-stained clothes, with knives, axes and strange bones hanging from his belt made him appear to be as savage as the rest of the Viking men.

Though, the sunlight gave his hair and helmet a strange glowing red color. It reminded Esther of mud mixed with fresh blood. It should have made him look just as dirty and monstrous as the others. Yet, somehow, his posture forbidden such an assumption: He was inherently and intrinsically different from his men. Everything about him, from the way he walked to the light in his eyes, commanded respect and screamed power violently. There was an undertone of royalty in the way he moved. Though, there was also something quietly divine about him. He was God-like. But not like Esther's God; not a kind God. Mikael was what Esther always imagined the Pagan's Gods to be like: strange, terrifyingly ugly, powerful and unworldly.

Mikael looked as something which had creeped out of Esther's most horrifying nightmares. Of all of them, he was the only one she thought could, in fact, be of demonic origins.

She was too flustered to understand his commands, but the men obeyed without question. They retreated slowly, giving Dahlia and her space to breathe. 

"I am Mikael Stoickson." The sound came from inside his helmet. "You are to come with me, peacefully, and talk to King Stoick," He declared formally as he gesticulated for them to follow him to the village's church. "We have use for your abilities." He added tiredly as he studied their faces.

Dahlia tilted her head back defiantly as she got up slowly. Esther imitated her sister. But neither of them moved. Mikael seemed to chuckle slightly at their facade of bravado. He gesticulated again to his men as he said something in a strange tongue. They moved further back reluctantly, and some left the square, apparently cursing under their breath. Mikael steeped slowly forward as he put his sword back in its sheath.

"I mean you two no harm," he said, raising his hands in the air briefly. The sisters stared, frightened, at him. "I am no demon," He added playfully, as he took off his helmet.

Esther was sure Mikael's face would be a terrifying sight. She thought he was a monstrous man, the most vicious of them all. But as he took off the dark piece of metal from his head, his eyes no longer shined with ferocity. They, instead, held a bright, though restless softness. His face was contrastingly clean compared to the rest of him. Esther thought he looked angelic. Though his body, still soaked in blood, contrasted with the inherent tenderness of his features. For a moment, his beauty frightened her more than his viciousness had. It reminded her of the stories about Lucifer. In the days, he still strolled through paradise.

Mikael face was delicate. He was strikingly beautiful. And ridiculously young. He did not look a year older than seventeen. Esther was sure he was younger than Dahlia. His voice, when he spoke again, confirmed Esther's suspicions: he sounded absurdly childish without the helmet. An undertone of sweet naivety permeated his every word. His entire body seemed to shiver with a strange restlessness. His lips seemed destined to be contorted into cheerful smiles; it was their only purpose. How Mikael could control the rebel corners of his mouth was a mystery to Esther. Yet, despite all the inherent childishness of his voice, the naivety of his eyes and youthful tenderness of his features; Mikael, somehow, still retained his serious posture of command.

"See?" he teased softly, a smile playing on his lips.

Esther felt her cheeks burning slightly as his eyes fell on her. Part of her wanted to smile back to him, but her sister's grip of her hand reminded Esther it was not the time for smiling. Mikael sighed as Dahlia still eyed him suspiciously. He gestured again to his men. They stepped further back as he strolled closer to them. Dahlia instinctively stepped back, but Esther did not move.

"I understand your fear," he muttered softly, his eyes held a tender and sorrowful light. His voice was too low for his men to hear. "According to our laws, you have lost your freedom since your people do not consider you worthy of it." he informed mechanically, a dreadful shadow passed through his eyes. "It is our law and I can do nothing about it." He declared reluctantly.

Dahlia scoffed angrily. Esther felt tears burning her eyes. She did not fully understand what 'losing her freedom' meant, but by the dreadful looks on both Mikael's and Dahlia's faces, she was sure it was terrible.

"All I can do is to be present at your audience with my father. I can attest to your powerful magic and–,"

"What good will that do?" Dahlia blurted out, exasperated. She tried to hold back tears which plagued her eyes. "If we are to be the slaves of beast?" Her voice cracked as her lips trembled. Still, she held his gaze, and desperately tried to burn him with her eyes.

"You can buy your freedom." Mikael declared in a whisper. He stepped closer yet again, though neither of the sisters moved. "In time, through your services for our people, you can be free again. I have seen this happening before with healers in our villages." He mumbled, a tender expression playing on his face. "It will take time, no doubt. But if King Stoick accepts you as our sorcerers, you will be safe for as long as you stay with us."

Dahlia and Esther gazed at him, perplexed. Mikael tried to smile, but quietly desisted. He looked around tiredly and sighed.

"I saw you. You both are powerful. We have great use for such abilities. But–," he glanced tenderly at them. "I understand if you try to run now. I suppose I too would choose that." He scoffs bitterly. "So, if that is what you chose: I will not try to stop you. But I cannot help you either." He declared bitterly. "It is your choice after all... though," he smiled shyly at them. "If you stay," he took out his hand, showing them a crucifix he had on a chain wrapped around his pulse. "I might not be Christian, but I respect your God." He declared matter-of-factly, a sweet seriousness drowning his voice. "And I give you my word: I will let no one harm you," his voice was low and solemn, as though he was saying a prayer.

Esther felt her heart beating faster with his words. But Dahlia almost snapped a defiant reply. Though, the solemnity of his words seemed to appease her rage. She nodded resentfully. Mikael smiled, halfheartedly, and asked the sisters to follow him into the town's small church.


	4. The Devil sits on his throne and plays with his sons

King Stoick, the Great, sat in his throne-like-chair inside the church, his muddy feet rested over the Christians’ sacred altar. Around him, men laughed, drank and made piles with their stolen treasures.

A cup of holy wine in his hand, king Stoick ran his eyes through the faces of the terrified villagers as they pleaded for their land. A sweet smile played on the corners of his lips as the Christians trembled under his gaze. His eager blue eyes shined as he reveled in their fear. As the pleading ended, he called for his sons. With a swift flick of his hand, Stoick dismissed the priest, declaring he would consider their propositions.

Stoick’s bastard came promptly; his shaking hands barely able to hold on to his notes As the Christians left, Niklaus marched to his father’s right side. He flipped through the pages, shuttering as he tried to inform Stoick of their spoils of war.

“Where is your brother?” Stoick asked dryly, ignoring his son’s attempts to talk.

Niklaus muttered a reply, but was thankful when his father continued to ignore his presence. He felt his blood turning cold as his mind raced to Mikael. Quietly begging his Gods to give his brother some sense, Niklaus closed his book and stepped away from the alter.

Stoick’s eyes were fixed on the half-open doors of the church; his fingers softly drumming on his sword handle. His lips contorted into a tense line as he waited, his mind drowned in anticipation.

Mikael took a sharp breath before walking in. Dahlia and Esther followed him.

Stoick took the cup of holy wine to his lips before getting up from his throne. He studied the sisters briefly as he strolled towards them. A violent shiver ran through Esther’s body as she felt his eyes on her. Though, he did not seem too interested in the two witches. His eyes quickly landed on his son. As though Stoick had been waiting for Mikael to arrive for hours. Stoick’s lips contorted into a maniacal smirk, full of an evil sweetness as he studied his son’s tense posture. 

“What is this?” His voice echoed through the church. The excitement and rage in his voice was palpable, and yet he sounded perfectly calm. 

As Dahlia and Esther studied him, their heart shrank in their chest. There was a maniacal sweetness to him. The way Stoick stared at his son ignited in Esther’s heart a primal fear. _Perhaps this one truly is the Devil,_ they both thought.

Stoick, just as Mikael, was inherently different from the other men. The cleanness of his clothes made him stand out. Even with no blood on his clothes or hands, he was soaked in Death. Though, apart from this and his violently authoritarian posture, not much about his appearance seemed special. A thick dark beard covered his face, and was his only distinguished feature, apart from his strange eyes. Stoick was not beautiful either; his eyes had a light too cruel to ever be beautiful. But he did not look as monstrous as he should have. He had a venomously calm expression, which gave the impression he could be harmless, kind even. 

Stoick too looked God-like. Though, unlike his son, who might pass for an honorable (and even tender) Pagan God; Stoick could only be a God of Wrath. The God who had an intrinsic and naïve delight whenever he saw the prospect of destruction. His eyes appeared to have the power to bring down entire cities.

“They are witches, father.” Mikael answered promptly, stepping forward. “The town records accused them of witchcraft—for them, that is a crime.” Mikael continued matter-of-factly. “The villagers sentenced them to death.” He had planted his feet on the ground, trying to control the inherent restlessness of his body. Though, he still beat his sword handle repeatedly with his two fingers. He tilted his head up to meet his father’s gaze. “But I believe we should—,” 

“Kill them already and stop wasting my time, _boy_!” Stoick yelled ferociously, a strange sweetness ringing in his voice. He gestured tiredly to his men. His eyes still maniacally fixed on his son; a bitterly sweet smirk playing on his lips.

“No!” Mikael ordered, as the men who had captured Esther and Dahlia, hungrily strolled towards the witches. “They are not to be touched!” he roared, putting himself between the witches and the Vikings.

“What? You think you can have them both all to yourself?” Said the tallest of the men, as he spited at Mikael’s feet.

“We are only after our rightful spoils of war!” The youngest one declared. “We’ll put them to death after we are done.” he glanced shyly at King Stoick, searching approval for his proposal.

But Stoick had his vicious gazed fixed upon Mikael; he could see nothing else. A dark smile played on his lips as he watched his son.

“Rightful?” Mikael scoffed as he studied the men’s clothes---clean as the summer sky. “Even if that was still our law, which—,”

“Which that bitch sister of yours saw fit to—,” Replied the first man.

“Mind your tongue!” Mikael snapped, stepping forward. “If you do not want me to carve it out of your mouth.” He tilted his head back. His ferocious gaze passed through each of them, though none could hold it for long.

A dry and dark silence involved the church as the drunken laughter stopped. After a moment, Stoick cleaned his throat loudly. All the men turned to him, with eager and fearful eyes.

“Have you decided what is to be done with this village, father?” Mikael raised his chin, meeting Stoick’s gaze as he spoke. His voice trembling slightly.

King Stoick scoffed. “It will be part of _my_ Empire.” he declared, his voice echoing. He waved his hand haphazardly, as his gaze flew back to his son.

A victorious smile played on the corners of Mikael’s lips. “If this is a free village,” he declared triumphantly, as he turned to face the other men, “than all the women here are free subjects of our kingdom.”

“Those two are not free women!” One man snapped back. “Not even the Christians considered them free women.”

“They are still my father’s subjects.” Mikael replied, raising his voice; his hand lazily moved to his sword handle. “They are sorcerers. And powerful—,” 

“But they are not free woman.” The same man retorted maniacally as he stepped closer to Esther and Dahlia.

“They are under my protection.” Mikael roared as he grabbed the man’s arm and pushed him back violently. “And I say they are not to be touched.”

Esther watched with quiet delight as the ruthless men retreated slowly from them. Stoick glanced at Mikael, who sighed softly before turning to face his father. 

“Is that so, my boy?” Stoick tilted his head to the side, smirking as he watched Mikael’s lips tremble.

“They are powerful.” Mikael blurted out. “More than any other healer or seer in our villages.” Mikael said with fake confidence. “More than Reake.” he went on; his voice shaking slightly. “I believe they can help us with the sickness that plagues our towns.” His eyes shined with bright determination as he glanced at Esther. “They can even be useful in our voyages.” He added, tilting his head back. 

“Useful, you say.” Stoick said haphazardly. He studied both sisters meticulously and fast, before turning to face Mikael. A malicious smile played on his lips. “I think my son,” he declared loudly, “may confuse what is useful in the battlefield with what is useful in bed!”

A dry laughter followed his words. Mikael’s cheeks burned slightly. But, as he glanced around, his eyes met Niklaus’s, who gave him a reassuring nod as he stepped closer to his brother.

“Forgive me, father.” he began, his voice trembling. “But you are wrong.” Mikael raised his voice steadily above the laughter. Silence quickly devoured the air of the church. “They took down over seven men, all on their own.” he went on. “With no sword or axe.” 

“I thought I had taught you better, boy.” Stoick snapped, annoyed, stepping closer to his son. “You should lead with your head, not with your—,” 

“They only used _magic_.” Mikael cut off his father, breathlessly. “I saw it.” His voice almost sounded childish; it gave a high pitch right at the end.

Esther thought it would make the men laugh again. But the silence remained, becoming deafening as Stoick strolled towards his son; his brows frowned. Mikael’s chest went up and down roughly as he quietly tried to hold his father’s gaze. Though it seemed to be a lost battle as Stoick got closer to Mikael. The King’s ferocious gaze devoured the bits of prince’s soul. Mikael’s lips trembled in anticipation. 

“Father,” Niklaus blurted out, uncertain, as he marched to stand beside his brother. “I-I think w-what Mikael—,”

“Silence.” Stoick yelled, without taking his devilish eyes off Mikael. “If I wanted a bastard’s opinion on the matter,” he chuckled, lazily resting his hand on his sword handle. “I would have asked you, boy.”

Niklaus choked on the little pride he still had as some men around him chuckled. But he did not dare to speak again. _What good would it do?_ He pondered bitterly, stepping back. Niklaus tried to smile reassuringly to his brother, but the rage in Mikael’s eyes was palpable. If the confrontation between Niklaus and Stoick were to continue, Mikael would surely get himself in the middle of it to defend his brother. And Mikael’s interference never went unpunished; especially not when Stoick looked his eager to get his hands on his son. _No_ , Niklaus bit his tongue as lowered his gaze, _I’ll be damn if I’m the reason for another one of Stoick’s sick games...again…_

“I can vouch for them.” Mikael declared, stepping forward. His eyes still shined with anger, but he knew better than to cross his father. “I will swear to it.” he swallowed, tilting his head back.

“Vouch for them, you say.” Stoick repeated calmly. Though, his eyes seemed to want to burn his son’s skin off. “Very well, then.” He glanced again at Dahlia and Esther. “Keep them alive, if you wish.” he gesticulated to the two sisters, his eyes still fixed on Mikael. “They better be useful... “

“Yes, father.” Mikael said, a small smile shaped his lips. “They will. Thank you.” He glanced at Esther and Dahlia, his eyes shined with a faint light of victory. 

The silence in the church had been extinct. Drunk and happy murmurs filled the air. Esther would never have thought she would be glad when the noisy men went back to talking and desecrating their church. But the silence Mikael’s words had brought upon them made a knot appear in her throat.

Niklaus strolled to his brother’s side, a shy smile on his lips, as he patted Mikael’s shoulder. They both turned to the two sisters; to properly introduce themselves, when Stoick stepped forward. Esther thought Mikael flinched at his father's sudden movement.

“And Mikael…” Stoick called sweetly, as he rested his hand over his son’s shoulder. “Since you have vouched for them, my boy,” Stoick smiled maniacally as Mikael’s body became tense under his touch. “You will answer for whatever they do.” he informed, tilting his head to the side. “Do you understand, my boy? ”

Stoick's words seemed to cut through Mikael’s bones. All hints of a smile ran from his face, as a dreadful shadow passed through his eyes. He swallowed and glanced furtively at the witches before answering, with the last bit of courage he had: 

“Yes, father.” The words came out softly, almost as a whisper. Mikael avoided his father’s gaze. He cleaned his throat, before bowing down slightly. 

Stoick smiled brightly as he let go of his son’s shoulder. Mikael stared at the floor as his father strolled away from him. His face contorted into a mixture of dreadful anticipation and sickening anger. He was still breathing heavily, with a desolated look dwelling on his eyes, when he turned to Esther and Dahlia. 

“Brother—,” Niklaus began, but his voice died out—as it usually did whenever Stoick touched Mikael.

“Follow me.” Mikael ordered, without looking at his brother.

Esther glance at Niklaus, her eyes posing unsaid questions he was not equipped to answer. He nodded, giving her a small and sweet smile. She tried to smile back as they obeyed Mikael’s command.

Dahlia gazed at Stoick, as she had been doing since she walked into the church. Her eyes filled with both awe and anger; his power mesmerized her. Esther pulled her sister’s hand, calling Dahlia back to the land of the living.

Only after they stepped outside, Esther realized she had being holding her breath. She tried to recall at what point the air had forsaken her lungs, but found she could not put her finger on it. Still, once Mikael and Niklaus helped them onto a cart and Esther watched as the tower of her village’s church disappeared in the distance, all troubles left her mind.

Her most pressing issue throughout their journey was deciding whether she should pay attention to the unknown world which unfolded around her, or Mikael. Though, it became easier once he stated telling her about his land. They talked for hours, to Dahlia’s great annoyance. Niklaus stepped into the conversation, occasionally, with a laugh or comment. Though he enjoyed seeing his brother smile more than he enjoyed talking. And Mikael seemed cursed to smile every time he laid his eyes on Esther.

As for her, she studied his face, trying to understand the strange breathless feeling which took hold of her whenever his eyes fell upon hers. Esther instinctively felt a smile play on her lips. Something in the way his eyes shined; the naïve sweetness they held as he smiled at her—it made Esther feel light-headed. His posture was entirely different now: he seemed relaxed and softened. He had a strange way of contorting his mouth into a half smile. It made him look even more childish. But, Esther thought, it also made him more beautiful.

As the wind danced around her, and the sun left for its well-deserved rest, Esther realized she had never felt more free. 


	5. When they were young (part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments if you like this

_**I love you, I love you not** _

_Esther was seven years old the first time she thought about leaving her home and wandering through the world._

She always thought their village was small. She never hated living there, however. The people were strict and devoted to their faith—sometimes to extremes. But they were kind-hearted. Esther never had many close friends, but the other children always liked her. If she pleaded, they would even allow Dahlia to play with them.

Esther loved her home, she could not deny it. Even though their house was small, and they could never buy many things in the market, her life was comfortable and full of love.Their parents were simple and devoted, but never cruel or prejudices. They were kind, and Esther knew they adored their daughters. Her family was a happy one.

Whenever Dahlia and Esther would run through the fields, singing and catching flowers, Dahlia would talk about their beautiful future: how happy they would be, living together forever in their little house. Esther loved the excitement in her sister's eyes. The way Dahlia smiled when she talked of such things warmed Esther's heart more than anything.

And yet,she could not shake off the monotonousness of it all. Even as a child, she strolled through the village thinking there should be more.

Though Esther did not dream of palaces or violent adventures. She did not hope for a life of endless wandering. Esther simply wanted something else. She knew she could not find the beautiful and peaceful feeling she desired in her homeland. It made her feel restless. She could always hear a voice calling for her. It rattled in the trees and on the water of the river. She could hear it in the whispers of the villagers and in the shy bells of their church. The voice called her to see more.

Esther always wanted more.

_Esther was thirteen when she first thought about being a mother._

One dark, cold night, a young woman came knocking on their door. Her husband had gone hunting, she was alone with her two-year-old son, and her new baby was soon to be born. Esther's mother, Rebekah, was more than glad to help (after the untimely death of her husband Finnkell, she had taking a liking to the work of the midwife.)

Rebekah was the only healer of the village and one of the greatest sorceress of the region. Her family used to worship pagan gods, and some villagers resented her for it. Though, they were also frightened of her power.

Esther could always hear people whispering as they walked to mass. Many times, Esther and Dahlia played on their own, for no mother wanted their children playing with the witches (or "the Devil's workers" as some villagers called them).

The birth was a difficult one, and the young woman had to stay with them for two weeks while she was nursed back to health. Since their guest occupied their mother, Dahlia and Esther helped take care of the children. Dahlia would twist her nose when she was forced to take the baby in her arms and often complained of the insufferable crying of the "little pesty". But her sister was felt very different.

Both children delighted Esther. She adored playing games with the little boy, and her lullabies tenderly sent the baby into a peaceful sleep. Her daughter's dedication impressed Rebekah, and she praised Esther immensely. Still, Esther cried when she had to part with the two children.

Though her mother was quick to tell her: "One day, my darling girl, you can have children of your own..."

Rebekah's words filled Esther's chest with a warm happiness, as she imagined a beautiful future for herself and her children. But Dahlia's eyes shined with a quiet rage as she listened to such ideas...

_Esther was fifteen when she first laid eyes on him. And by God, she **hated** Mikael._

She hated how his hand touched hers as he showed them their new home. She hated the way he smiled when she asked him about his people's costumes; Esther despised how adorably happy he looked when she laugh at some jest he made. She hated how she could not stop herself from giggling like a fool when he was around.

Esther hated how he came by their house every single day, to bring them a basket filled with food—and talk to her. She hated even more when he stayed and cooked for them. She loathed how delicious his food tasted, and the shy smile Mikael had stamped on his face when Esther liked what he had cooked for her.

She hated the way he held her hands after she had healed his little brother Eli. By God, how he thanked her over and over. And the way he kissed her hands, telling Esther she was a blessing from his Gods, his eyes shined with tears of relief....he had never looked more beautiful..... _she hated him_ , and the urge she had of wrapping her arms around him.

Oh, how she despised the way her heart beat faster every time his eyes fell on her. Esther detested how beautiful he looked as he guided her through his town, showing her the markets, ships and short cuts, all the while telling her of his voyages.Though, perhaps, most of all she hated the voice screaming inside of her: "I want to travel with him..."

Esther hated that she caught herself almost saying such a thing out loud. But she knew it could never happen. _Dahlia would never agree to come with us,_ Esther told herself. _And I could never leave Dahlia alone_ , she concluded. _It would be our doom._

_Besides, would he even want me to go with him?,_ Esther wondered all the times Mikael flinched at her touch or left abruptly, without so much as a word.

And yet, the following day, she would always find little presents hidden in the middle of the basket Mikael brought. He would never tell her why he had to leave, but he smiled when she found flowers and sweets he had arranged for her.

But oh, how it vexed Esther as she laid wide awake, late at night, thinking of Mikael.

_What does he mean by it?_ She would always wonder. _What does he want from me?_

The question stole the air from her lungs. But she would rarely entertain it for long; whenever she did, a strange and helpless sensation would fill her stomach; as though a swarm of bees had gotten into her belly and buzzed around, making honey.

Fortunately, other thoughts would come to distract her. Soon her memories of Mikael would drown her mind; his voice rocking her to sleep.Esther kept her thoughts at bay for five months. Every night she would think of him, and every night she would refrain from dwelling on questions of his intentions. In the morning, she would wake with the sun, and greet him with an enormous smile.

Until one night, when Esther rolled around in bed, begging for the graceful sleep to come. Her memories of Mikael overwhelming her. The dreadful question popping up in her head more than once. Esther was sure she could ignore it, pretend the desire of knowing his feelings for her was never there. But, just as she calmed her thoughts, another voice crawled into her mind. The voice was faint, and terribly sweet as it whispered:

" _But what do you want from him?_ " And just as sure as the sky is blue, all chances of sleep ran from her eyes. Esther laid awake the entire night. The bees in her belly working madly and the air refusing to grace her lungs.

In the next morning, something had changed within her. Esther had not answered the questions. And yet she was sure, once she saw him, she would know.

But Mikael never came.

Esther glanced out of the windows until Dahlia yelled at her to stop. At noon, Niklaus came with some food.

"What of Mikael?" the question escaped her lips before Esther could stop herself.

When Niklaus heard his brother's name, a sorrowful light passed through his eyes.

"He is busy," Niklaus answered promptly, his lips contorted into a tense line. "But he is alright." He added, his voice trembled as he avoided her eyes.

_At least, he is alright...._ Esther thought as Niklaus walked away. _Nik does not lie....._

Still, when she closed the door behind her, a heaviness took hold of her chest; it made her breathless. Mikael will be back tomorrow. She forced herself to think, as two weeks went by. But he did not come.

And Esther never hated him more than the day she saw him again. The day she found Mikael in the woods.


	6. At The Gates of Hell, They Call For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: implied/ mention of abuse

Around him, laughter filled the air. The drunk Vikings danced and sang of their victories in war.

In his state of numbness, Mikael dangled his hand over the fire; the candle light burned his fingertips. Though the pain did not cause the effect he had hoped it would. Instead of dragging the memories of that wretched night away from his mind, the burns only brought them closer and closer; as though the pain was the putrefied food used to feed the worms which devoured away his soul and happiness.

No, he thought as he pulled his hand away from the fire. I will not think of it, he commanded his mind. How could he think of such terrible things in such a joyous night? That very morning, he had the courage to pass in front of Esther’s house for the first time in weeks. Mikael did not know what compelled him to walk to the witch’s hut. He was lost in thought when he saw her. Though, as he watched Esther poke her head through the window repeatedly—her eyes searching the busy street—his heart skipped a beat, as though it wanted to jump out of his chest and go greet her. And yet, his better judgement had stopped him, forcing Mikael to hide before she saw him.

As Mikael took a cup to his lips, shoving the ale down his throat, he quietly cursed himself. He had almost been foolish, letting himself dream of things he should not. Fortunately, he had stopped his mind before it thought of a fairy tale with no future. 

He shut his eyes and pressed his head against the column behind him. The music and festivities went on undisturbed. Mikael opened his eyes just in time to see his sister, Kolga, wrapping her arms around a red-haired woman’s waist. He chuckled softly as his sister and her companion danced happily.

Kolga had prepared the festival in his honor, to celebrate Mikael’s outstanding achievement: the unification of Norway under Stoick’s rule. It had taken their armies years to achieve such a feat. But alas, that very week, Mikael had lead the attack on the last independent region. He brought home piles of gold and the last crown Stoick needed to call himself Emperor.

It surprised Mikael when Kolga said Stoick had agreed to the celebrations. He was sure his father would never allow a festival in Mikael’s honor. Though, perhaps, it was to be expected. Stoick had never looked more pleased than when he announced his victory to his men. His father had not mentioned Mikael in his victorious speech, of course. But why would Stoick share his greatest achievement with his son, when he hated having to share air with Mikael?

And yet, as the (now officially crowned) Prince of Norway glanced around the great square where the festivities were taking place, he did not resent his father. In fact, he was thankful Stoick had sent him to war. The thrill he got from wielding his sword and fighting like a mad hound—not caring if he died—was the only thing which brought Mikael comfort; the only time his mind did not think of what Aswar and Stoick had done to him, in that wretched night…

Thankfully, as the men and women walked passed him, his mind went back to Stoick’s speech: how his eyes had shined when his son arrived. In his heart, Mikael always knew Stoick would never let him inherit the throne.

Stoick will always be king, Mikael pondered as more ale slid down his throat. And I’ll always be. He chuckled bitterly as part of the crowd broke into a song about Stoick, proud heir of nothing in particular…

“Mik!” The boyish cry came from the main table.

Mikael turned around just in time to catch his little brother, as the boy threw himself on him. He chuckled as he raised his brother into his arms. Eli quickly put his legs around his older brother’s waist and his arms around Mikael’s neck. The sudden additional weight made Mikael’s legs shake, his drunken mind barely able to keep his balance.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Eli said, breathlessly, as he placed his head on Mikael’s shoulder.

“Oh!” Mikael forced himself to smile, messing with his brother’s hair. “Is that so?” he jested, just as Niklaus marched in their direction; a disapproving look stamped on his face.

“I should have known he would come after you.” Nik said, exasperated, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched Eli try to hide his face on Mikael’s shoulder. Niklaus’s lips contorted with worry as he quietly studied his older brother’s drunken posture. He shyly tried to catch Mikael’s gaze, but his brother avoided his eyes. Nik cleared his throat, trying to push away his guilt.

“Kolga will be worried sick about you, Eli.” Nik added, when it became clear Eli had no intentions of leaving Mikael’s arms. “She was sure you were asleep.”

“I’m not tired!” Eli grunted, but soon a yawn undermined his statement. “I want to stay with Mika!” he insisted as Nik frowned. Eli’s eager eyes jumped to Mikael’s face in search of support.

“Now, now, mitt liten en*,” Mikael said, beaming. He tilted his head to the side to face his little brother and was glad he could look at something other than the ground and still avoid Nik’s inquiring gaze. “Even the mightiest warriors need to sleep.”

“But you said you’d teach me your knife tricks!” the boy urged, matter-of-factly, making his big brother chuckle. “You promised.” Eli added, frowning, a serious expression stamped on his face. Mikael smiled shyly as he considered surrendering to his brother’s will. _What harm could it do?_

“He will teach you tomorrow,” Nik declared, before Mikael could give in to Eli’s pleads.

“Please,” Eli begged. Nik shook his head. “Please, Mik!” he added, turning to Mikael.

“No.” Nik ordered, a strange rage ringing in his voice as his eyes fell on his little. “It’s late and—,”

“Oh, for Odin’s sake, Niklaus!” Mikael blurted out, looking into his brother’s eyes for the first time. “I see no issue with letting the boy stay a bit—,”

“The king is calling for you.” Niklaus declared; the words burned his tongue. “Mikael.” he added, trying to hold his brother’s gaze. But he should have known better. As he looked into Mikael’s eyes, he could see his brother’s drunken happiness and hopefulness disappear as the meaning of Nik’s words became clear.

Mikael held his breath. “I’ll teach you later.” he muttered, putting Eli down and tenderly resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Father is calling for me.” Mikael added softly, his lips trembling as he tried to smile. Eli’s eyes widen with fear at the mention of their father.

“Eli, why don’t you go to Kolga?” Nik said sweetly, though unable to smile as his brother had. Eli looked down as he nodded resentfully. He wrapped his arms around Mikael’s and then Niklaus’s waists before running back to their home.

As Niklaus watched Eli disappear inside their house, Mikael chugged down another cup of ale. His wobbly legs barely able to keep him standing.

“Well,” Mikael said, cleaning his throat. “I must not keep the King waiting then.” His voice trembled, full of bitterness, as he smiled scornfully.

“Sober up first.” Niklaus blurted out, reaching for Mikael’s arm as he tried to walk away. “He’ll be enraged if he sees you this drunk.” He urged, his eyes instinctively, searching his brother’s face for a sign of forgiveness.

A dry laugh cut Mikael’s breath. “And you know much about his rage,” he pushed his brother’s hand away. “Do you now, Nik?”

“Mika—I only meant—,”

“What?” Mikael stepped forward, forcing Nik to press his back against a wall. “What did you mean, Niklaus?” His vicious eyes—just as maniacal as Stoick’s—seemed to shrink his young brother’s soul. A guilty bliss took hold of Mikael’s chest as he watched Nik tremble under his gaze, unable to look him in the eye.

“I meant,” Niklaus began, uncertain. Taking a sharp breath, he glanced up at his brother. Mikael stared down at him in his drunken anger. “If you weren’t so...” he went on, gazing into his brother’s eyes as a strange rage made its nest on his heart. “So bloody reckless!” he blurted out in anger. Mikael stepped back.

“M-maybe if you didn’t make him angry all the time,” Niklaus went on and on, gesticulating. “If you didn’t talk back. And if you would listen then—,”

“Then what?” Mikael muttered, staring at his brother. Though now his eyes held a soft, almost tearful light.

“Then perhaps he wouldn’t have to beat you like a dog every fortnight!” Nik spitted the words and found they had a vile taste. His heart sank in his chest as he raised his eyes, and he regretted ever speaking.

Mikael chuckled bitterly. He looked away from his brother as rebellious tears threatened his eyes. Nik opened and closed his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Even if,” Mikael began, turning back to his brother. “Even if I was the perfect son,” he chuckled, “He would still get bored.” A sorrowful smile played on his lips.

“Mika...” the whisper came out of Nik’s mouth, his eyes shining.

“And you,” Mikael stepped forward, pointing his finger to Nik’s face. “You, little brother,” he rested his hand tenderly on his brother’s shoulder. “You would not last a day, if Father did to you what he does to me.” bitterness drowned his voice, and yet his grip on Nik’s shoulder did not tighten. “Do not speak to me about his rage,” he muttered darkly, a last glimpse of menace shining in his eyes before his hand fell down and he stepped away.

“I know.” Nik murmured, shame contorting his face. “I know.” he repeated numbly, unable to hold his brother’s gaze.

“Good,” Mikael said, forcing a smile. He filled his cop one last time, before chugging down the ale.

“I’ll wait,” Niklaus muttered, as cleaned his face and watched Mikael drink his anger away. “w-wait for it to be done.” he shuttered, swallowing his guilt. “Then I will come help you—,”

“Don’t bother.” Mikael blurted out, leaving his empty cop over the barrel of ale. “I’m just a reckless waste of space,” he chuckled bitterly at Nik’s surprised expression. “Aren’t I, brother?” he jested maliciously.

“Mikael—.” Nik began, but his words died on his tongue.

“Stay away, Niklaus.” Mikael urged, seriousness taking over his voice. “If he sees you near—it will only make him invite you in...” a dark shadow passed over his face as memories flooded his mind. Mikael shrugged. “And drink in my honor!” he jested, forcing one last smile before marching away.

A broken apology burned Niklaus’s tongue as he watched his brother disappear among the crowd. Fortunately, once he used Mikael’s cop to shove ale down his throat, his mind drifted away.

Mikael strolled to Stoick’s hut at the edges of their town. It was the King’s favorite place, his sanctuary; the house in which Stoick’s vile imagination could run free of any judgement. Mikael reached the wretched wooden door he knew so well and knocked. His father’s voice echoed from inside, calling him to enter. As usual, the Devil was more than happy to see his son.


	7. My Sister, The Dreamer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so it took me forever to finish this. I rewrote it like five times and I'm still not all that happy with it, but at least now we can move on with the story. The next few chapters are gonna be fun, I'm excited for them. Anyway, thanks so much for reading. If you liked this please consider leaving your thoughts, I'd love to hear them :)

With the spell completed, Dahlia stared into the waters of the basin as she washed the blood off her hands. The dim candle light turned the clear waters into a dark pit. Lazily raising her gaze, she found window half open.

The festivities went on undisturbed on the square outside. From their little hut, Dahlia could only see part of the Great Square, far away. Still, the distance from the party did little to diminish the sound of drunken laughter. To say nothing of the smell of ale and the terrible songs, the pagans insisted on singing.

The young witch muttered an ancient curse under her breath and dried her hands. As Dahlia reached for the window, intending to close herself off from the barbaric and strange world of the Vikings, a familiar face caught her eye.

Kolga, Mikael's adoptive older sister, was strolling through the streets, her arm wrapped around the waist of a young red-haired woman. Even though they were too far away for Dahlia to hear them, the witch could swear she could feel in her bones as the women giggled and smiled at each other. She watched as the shield-maiden pulled the woman closer. Kolga threw her head back, forcing her hair away from her face, before pressing her forehead against her companion's. Kolga soon pressed her lips against the young woman's neck and then whispered something in her ear. The woman laughed and, beaming, took Kolga's face into her hands. Their noses danced around each other, as though they were blind blades fighting in a childish play until, at least, their mouths met.

For what seemed like a million years, Dahlia's eyes were fixed on the two women.The young witch had never seen such a thing, such passion and beauty. It left her breathless. She remembered seeing a farm boy and some girl kissing once in their village. But the sensation then was different. At the time, Dahlia was simply annoyed with them for blocking her passage. Now, however, she could feel her heart drumming in her chest. As though the scene in front of her was both her sin and her salvation; the forbidden bliss only Heavens and its angels could experience.

Before her mind could run to jealousy and bitterness, a loud scream—which she assumed was part of another annoying pagan song—filled the night's air, pulling Dahlia out of her dazzled state. Flustered, and with her poor heart still threating to jump out of her chest, Dahlia jolted, violently closing the window. Breathing heavily, she lowered her gaze to the dark water, trying to destroy the images from her mind and purge her feelings from her heart. With a sharp sigh, she raised her chin, her eyes meeting a small mirror on the wall.

_I'm not as alive as they are_. The thought burned her tired mind as she passed her hands over the dark circles underneath her eyes. _I'm too dark and plain for her_ , she concluded bitterly, wrapping her fingers around her curly dark hair. _I look nothing like Esther and Mother._ She bit her tongue, and the mirror cracked under her gaze.

"The food's ready!" Esther called, pulling Dahlia away from her spiraling thoughts.

With unsteady steps, Dahlia turned to face her sister. Esther had just finished setting the table near the fire and was now arranging the plates and giving the last touches to their small fest. Dahlia watched in awe as Esther lit candles and went as far as getting a vase with flowers to ornate the center of their table.

"Come, Daly!" Esther called, with a tentative smile, as her sister stared blankly at the food. "I cooked all your favorites." She added, titling her head to the side, hoping to catch Dahlia's gaze. "Every dish mother used to make us in our name days when we were children." Her promises of sweet and tasteful memories won her sister over.

"You truly should not have bothered, dear sister." Dahlia cleared her throat, sitting down in front of Esther. For as cold as her heart had become, Dahlia could not help but smile back to her sister.

"Nonsense!" Esther said, shrugging as she served Dahlia, throwing a bit of everything on her sister's plate. "Tonight is a night for celebrations, dear sister." She smiled brightly as she sat down once again. "Outside the Vikings celebrate their victories, but in here we shall celebrate your birth!" She added, her voice filled with a childish determination.

Dahlia chuckled at her sister's sweet naivety and took the food to her mouth. The familiar smell fooled her mind, and her thoughts soon fell upon her childhood memories. For a marvelous moment, it vanquished her troubles and rage. All she could feel was the dear warmth of happier days. Yet, no matter how much she tried to pretend, the taste was simply not the same. Nothing would ever be the same as it was in those beautiful days. Still, as Dahlia watched her little sister smile and pour more water for them, she was sure she could ignore minor differences in the cooking. After all, Esther had worked so hard to make such a supper for them; she had done everything just as their mother used to. Yes, everything, except...

"What is this?" Dahlia blurted out. Frowning, she took a strange piece of bread from her plate and began studying it. "Mother never made such a thing for us."

"No." Esther confessed, her eyes lighting up with a dreamlike light, while she contorted her mouth into a tense line. "This is Osyrat Kornbröd." she declared, raising her chin, barely able to stop herself from smiling. Sweet memories flooded her mind. "It's barley flatbread. Mikael taught me how to make it." A half smile finally creeping on her lips as her fingers curled a lock of her hair.

"Isn't it delicious, sister?" Esther sighed, taking a piece of bread to her lips. Her memories of him warmed her chest, but a quiet rage burned in her heart as Esther cursed Mikael for leaving her with only a few memories. She knew he was not dead, of course, and her a bit of comfort. But she hated him, more and more each day; though, most of all, she hated the voice screaming from within her, telling her how she missed him. It was not the first time she heard such a voice; still, it had become more vicious than she remembered. Strange and evil thoughts creeped into her mind more and more, and it scared her.

"Is it not enough that we perform spells for them all day," Dahlia's enraged voice pulled Esther from her sweet memories. "Must we eat their wretched food as well?" Dahlia muttered under her breath.

Ether raised her eyes. The taste of the bread still drowned her senses with images of Mikael. She never understood where such animosity came from. And if there ever came a day in which life forced Dahlia to be truthful to herself, she would have to admit that she too had no clue where her rage came from. Still, it was not the first or the last time it had happened.

"We are to desecrate our mother's memory, are we now?" Dahlia barked, throwing the bread on the table. "You wish to taint every bit of our lives with their barbarity?" She spited the words, slammingher fists against the table.

"Sister!" Esther cried, flinching at Dahlia's sudden outburst of rage. "It's hardly that---it-it's simply a bit different..."

"It's ruined!" Dahlia jumped up, throwing the remains of her plate into the fire. In her rage, she conjured her magic and her furious gaze putrefied all food left on their table.

"Dahlia!" Esther got up with half a mind of trying to salvage some food she made, but quickly decided against it as her sister's gaze fell upon her. "I know it's not perfect, b-but you mustn't—. " she stuttered helplessly as her voice died out.

"Not perfect?" Dahlia scoffed. "What do you think our mother would think of this, Esther?" her voice echoed, stealing the air from their hut. "You cooking this-this-this wretched food of beasts!" she waved her hand into the air, breaking the vase her sister had arranged and burning the flowers within it. "Forgetting our culture...soon you will be no better than those monsters outside!"

"Daly, please..." Esther pleaded, stepping back. "Its just bread, I—," she whispered, her voice creaking as her sister's gaze pierced through her soul. "I never meant to offend you, or our mother."

"But you have!" Dahlia stared at their table. The smell of the putrefied food made her nauseous. "You have ruined everything..." she whispered, putting out the fire which consumed the flowers with a flick of her hand.

"Go to your room." She ordered, cleaning the rebellious tears that escaped her eyes. "Now, you silly girl!" Dahlia screamed, her voice shaking the pillars of their hut and making her sister flinch.

Blinking madly as tears creeped into her eyes, Esther bit her tongue. A scream came and died in her throat. With trembling hands, she marched away from her sister, walking towards the door to the back room of their hut."Not all of them are monsters." she muttered as her hand reached the door handle.

"Run." The vicious voice yelled from within Esther's mind. Before she could get a hold of herself, the young witch had already stormed out of her prison. The night's air greeted her lung with a passionate kiss.

"Esther!" Dahlia called as her sister disappeared through the door. She made a move to follow Esther, but the sight of the man on her doorstep stopped her.

Both sisters could hear their hearts drumming maniacally in their chest. Their lips trembled as they welcomed what fate had in stored for them. The night had just began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So on a more ranty note: I’m kinda sad with how few people are reading this and how many are reading some of my other stories (that I’m not all that excited about). But oh well, I guess that’s life. If you liked this, please consider commenting. It would really brighten my day


End file.
